The Good Life
by Redconky
Summary: What happens when reality is finally better than the dreams you've had all of your life? Just ask Ron and Hermione. Song-inspired fic, post-Deathly Hallows, pre-Epilogue, book and movie cannon compliant - pure fluff.


**The Good Life**

Rated "T"

Ron/Hermione romance

**What happens when reality is finally better than the dreams you've had all of your life? Just ask Ron and Hermione. Song-inspired fic, post-Deathly Hallows, pre-Epilogue, book and movie cannon compliant - pure fluff.**

**Author's Notes: This idea started to form when I woke up July 14, 2011 before seeing the midnight release of Deathly Hallows Part 2, developed some bones after seeing dazzleme7's YouTube tribute video to the Golden Trio using OneRepublic's "The Good Life" and was nearly fully formed after seeing the movie (and playing the song ad nauseum). This is dedicated to the genius that is J.K. Rowling, all the people involved in making the Harry Potter films (from the Leavesden Studios custodians through producer David Heyman), and to my fellow rabid Harry Potter fans.**

**Now that my accelerated class is over, I'm going to update **_**The Magical Mystery Tour de Force**_** and **_**Breaking the Code**_** before Labor Day.**

**I'm really going to miss the fever-pitch moments like the one we're in now. Okay, enough talk – here it is! Lyrics are in boldface. Characters' thoughts are in **_**italics**_**. Reviews are thoroughly appreciated.**

In spite of staying up until quarter to four in the morning, Hermione's eyes popped open at 9:13 a.m. She was strangely awake for not having had much sleep, but she had ample cause to be excited.

It was the first morning in the first place she and Ron would share. The icing on the cake was that it was Saturday – her favorite day of the week.

**Woke up in London yesterday **

**Found myself in the city near Piccadilly . . . .**

She turned towards the window of their bedroom, where the sunshine greeted her. The windows in the bedroom and the living room faced west, meaning they'd have a spectacular view of the sunset every day. They'd agreed on a third-floor flat in Muggle London close to Diagon Alley, which let Hermione have her muggle creature comforts like electricity, telephone service, satellite television and Internet but provided quick access to the wizard world. She silent swung her legs out and stretched her arms. She was unsuccessful in stifling her yawn but it didn't matter – Ron was dead to the world. The Floo Network wasn't connected yet to the fireplace, so many of their boxes (including wedding gifts) had to be moved in manually. Ron, Harry, George, Percy and Bill had spent Friday evening moving in the furniture and boxes while Hermione, Ginny and Fleur were busy putting the right items into the right rooms. It wasn't a huge flat, but it had two bedrooms, a bathroom with a deep bathtub, and a huge combined open kitchen/dining room/living room. The high ceilings with exposed cherry beams and matching floor gave it a cottage feel even though it was in the city. There were large windows in all the rooms, giving it an airy feeling. They had access to the rooftop, where they planned to create a container garden and set up a grill, deck chairs, a table and chaises.

It was _perfect_.

Hermione padded out towards the sink to fill the kettle and put it on the stove. An owl pecked at the window facing the back alley. Hermione opened it and untied today's copy of _The Daily Prophet_ from the delivery owl. She gave it a quick pat and gently pushed it away. After shutting the window, she scanned the headlines as she made her way towards the flat's front door. She then picked up the copy of _The Guardian_ lying on the landing.

"_Fresh reading material – this is a good start,"_ Hermione thought.

She made a cup of tea and quickly ate a piece of buttered toast. She jumped in the shower and was ready in record time. She wanted to get to the open-air market nearby to get groceries, particularly for the brunch she had in mind. Within an hour, she was back and cooking.

Ron's nose was awake before the rest of him. He refused to open his eyes until he could identify the combination of scents tickling his nostrils. He detected a combination of strawberries, maple syrup, cream, eggs, sausage, cinnamon and oranges.

"_This ought to be good,"_ he whispered to himself.

Ron pulled on a pair of white-and-navy-striped pajama bottoms and eased his feet into slippers. He quietly snuck into the bathroom, where he washed his face and hands and brushed his teeth. Hermione had a thing about morning breath and teeth, but after having grown up with dentist parents, it made sense.

He opened the bathroom door and watched Hermione for a few minutes. She was sliding sideways in the kitchen from the refrigerator to the stove, sink and counter. She had her back turned towards Ron, allowing him to drink in the sight of domestic harmony – which, in his case, meant domestic Hermione.

**I'm taking a mental picture of you now **

**'Cause hopelessly **

**The hope is we have so much to feel good about . . . .**

She finally was standing still in one place – in front of the stove – for long enough that Ron felt he could come from behind. He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed his shirtless self against her torso, and kissed the top of her head before laying his left cheek on the same spot. Hermione snuggled back while turning the French toast in the pan.

"Good morning, honey," she cooed.

"Morning, darling," he replied.

Hermione's face scrunched.

"Darling?" she said in disbelief.

"Doesn't work for you?"

"Sorry, but no."

"How 'bout 'sweetheart'?"

"That will work," she replied while turning to give her new husband a smooch.

They snogged for nearly two minutes before the slight smell of something burning hit them.

**When you're happy like a fool **

**Let it take you over **

**When everything is out **

**You gotta take it in . . . .**

"Shit!" Hermione exclaimed after breaking the kiss and taking the French toast off of the burner.

"It's fine," Ron said. "It's not black – just dark brown."

"Thank heavens. I don't want to inaugurate our kitchen with a culinary disaster."

"Maybe I'd better read the sports section of _The Prophet_ while you finish," Ron whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek.

Hermione intended to learn all of Molly Weasley's magical cooking techniques, but working at the ministry and setting up house didn't leave much time for cooking lessons, so she was cooking the muggle way for now.

Before sitting at the table, Ron reached around Hermione to grab the kettle, which she'd kept warm by keeping the burner on a low setting. He snagged a mug and a bag of English Breakfast, letting the tea steep while checking the latest news on professional quidditch player trades.

Within 10 minutes, Hermione plated brunch: French toast made with Gran Mariner and topped with cinnamon, powder sugar and maple syrup, accompanied by small sausage links, coddled eggs, sliced strawberries and freshly-squeezed orange juice.

Ron let loose a grin that was usually reserved for the bedroom.

"I could get used to this," he said.

"Only on the weekends," Hermione cautioned. "We don't have time in the morning during the week."

"I supposed you're right."

"Besides, this kind of breakfast is part of what makes the weekend special. At least, that's how it was for me growing up. Mom always made Saturday and Sunday mornings special by making pancakes, waffles, scrambled eggs, scones, whatever struck her fancy. It was when we caught up on what had happened during the week and talked about . . _life_. It was one of the things I really missed when we were on the Horcrux hunt."

It was almost unfathomable now: only a few years had passed since the end of the Second Wizarding War, but they were in such a different place. In that time, Hermione had retrieved her parents from Australia and finished at Hogwarts, Ron had helped George get Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and up running again before starting auror training, Harry and Ginny had married and started right away on having a family, and Bill and Fleur had Victoire.

"Let's keep it."

"Keep what?"

"Your weekend tradition. I like it."

Hermione's face lit up with the biggest smile. She leaned over her plate and kissed Ron, her lips covered in maple syrup and his covered in powder sugar. They pulled apart when Ron accidentally burped in Hermione's mouth.

"Sorry," Ron said while his ears turned a deep pink.

"I'll forgive you – this time," she replied with a playful smirk.

They both sipped their tea, their eyes locked for at least a minute.

"What's on the agenda?" Ron asked.

Hermione scanned the room, filled with sealed boxes.

"I suppose setting up house."

Ron turned around to survey the flat's central room, then turned back to his wife. He got that cat-that-ate-the-canary expression Hermione had come to recognize since they'd kissed in the final battle.

"Later," Ron whispered while waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. "We really should knock this out today." Ron had known Hermione's responsibility expression – the one she had now – since their first year at Hogwarts.

"We will. But not yet," he said as he stuck his fork into a bit of her sausage and pointed it towards her mouth. She opened up and took it. As she chewed, the responsibility face melted into the contented face Ron adored, especially when he was the one who made it happen.

"When the war ended, I silently made a promise to myself and to you to seize times like this. We're never going to have another first full day of living together. We need to enjoy it."

Hermione took her fork, speared a large chunk of strawberry on Ron's plate and fed it to him, which he took with a smile.

"You're right," she said. "This – right now – it's-"

"Perfect."

"Yeah."

"Is this what they mean by 'the good life'?" Ron asked.

"I think so. I can't imagine anything better."

"I can," Ron said as he stood up and took Hermione by the hand and led her to the bedroom.

**Oh, this has gotta be the good life **

**This has gotta be the good life **

**This could really be a good life, good life . . .**

**We are god of stories but please tell me-e-e-e **

**What there is to complain about?**


End file.
